


Sunlight is the Best Disinfectant

by lubilu17



Series: Where to Now? Where can I go Now? [1]
Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: F/F, I will ship these two till the end of days, Kind of angsty, Marya had like really bad anxiety, i will personally fill this tag if I have to, im not really sure what to tag, so I'm gonna go now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 16:31:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12062826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lubilu17/pseuds/lubilu17
Summary: Darkness encased the entire house, curtains drawn at every window, shadows creeping down corridors. Darkness showed flaws, darkness showed mistakes, darkness showed loneliness. Silence encased the entire house, no Sonya or Natasha laughing, no servants scurrying round the corridors. Silence showed flaws, silence showed mistakes, silence showed loneliness. Darkness and silence showed the loneliness Marya had felt for years, alone in the house. The darkness should not scare her after all these years living alone.





	Sunlight is the Best Disinfectant

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy the angst kids...

Darkness encased the entire house, curtains drawn at every window, shadows creeping down corridors. Darkness showed flaws, darkness showed mistakes, darkness showed loneliness. Silence encased the entire house, no Sonya or Natasha laughing, no servants scurrying round the corridors. Silence showed flaws, silence showed mistakes, silence showed loneliness. Darkness and silence showed the loneliness Marya had felt for years, alone in the house. The darkness should not scare her after all these years living alone.

Candlelight cast an almost ethereal light across the Marya's face as she walked down the corridor, passing both Sonya and Natasha's rooms, the next day Natasha would go to the Bolkonsky's to try to reason with the old prince. The old prince who kept his own daughter captive alone aside from her saints and her faith, though truly could one be alone with saints and faith? It was almost an impossible mission Marya had sent Natasha on. Almost. There was the slightest chance that he'd see sense. Yet that was not going to happen, Mayra knew that even before Natasha had left. Whilst Natasha left in her mission, she'd sent Sonya to look round the markets for anything of interest. This was definitely not a way to get the pair out of the house. Definitely not.

Neither of the two girls had met the Kuragin siblings and Marya was going to keep it that way until it was truly necessary. They were most likely to meet Hélène at the opera the next evening, the odds of Anatole being at the opera were very low, even if he did come he'd never show up with his sister so that meeting could be avoided easily. The only difficult part of meeting the Kuragin's was that Marya would have to pretend that she hadn't spent all day with the elder of the pair, have to pretend like she didn't look at Hélène like she held the sun and stars and that Hélène didn't stare at Marya like she was the key to the secret of the universe. Of course that'd be hard but they'd dealt with it for years, always hiding in the shadows and darkness.

Darkness showed loneliness but maybe it also held a passionate affair from the high society of Moscow, held two of the most powerful women in society and their secret. Hiding in back rooms at balls held in the Bezuchova household, in the darkness of Marya's own house, away from the prying eyes of servants. That was all gone with Sonya and Natasha in the house, the pair being light sleepers would hear as Marya let Hélène into the house and break down all her fears of the dark, of the loneliness.

The candlelight helped Marya get to her chambers without any chance of her falling into the pit of her fears. She could make it without Hélène one night, she was strong enough to do. It was just one night.

_Marya's breath was increasing at an alarming rate, her head spinning, vision blurring with unshed tears. Tears that hadn't been shed since the funeral where she'd stood as poised as a soldier. She hadn't loved him, how could she? How could she love a man who treated her like his own slave? How could she love a man who only noticed her when the lights were out in their bedroom? How could she love a man who's only tie to her was the golden band around their fingers? He had not loved her, that was for sure, he'd loved the idea of her, a doting wife for him to manipulate into bending to his will. The only sign of her grief were the two tear trails that made their way down her cheeks, cold eyes meeting Hélène's through the crowd, she'd wanted to shatter then after seeing the undisguised sympathy in her expression. They were spectacular actresses the pair of them._

_She hadn't cried since the funeral, yet here she was collapsed on the floor with Hélène's arms wrapped round her waist, all lights on in the house, candles lit at every window. She could only think of the possibilities of what would happen if he found them like that, curled up on the floor together, before Hélène whispered into her hair that he wasn't coming back, he was never coming back, the perfectly aimed bullet in his head made sure of that._

She made it through the night, restlessly, waking up every time she heard a sound outside her room, the owl that nested in the tree by the window, Natasha and Sonya as they woke up and started to get ready for the day ahead. Marya managed to get herself out of bed to see Natasha off to her carriage to the Bolkonsky's, to direct Sonya to the markets, she'd managed to do a couple of things and that was enough for now. All she wanted to do was to drink her rum and tea and wait for Hélène to turn up in a hour, then curl up with her in a mound of blankets and work herself up to going to the opera that evening.

Marya was broken from her reverie by slender arms wrapping their way round her waist, soft lips a ghost on the nape of her neck, burning fingers finding their way through the layers of blankets and clothes, pressing against Marya's ice cold skin, grounding her with the contrast.

"Morning mon Cher, there's no need to reply I can do the talking for you." Hélène's lips murmured into Marya's hair line, pressing slight kisses between words.

Turning her head round to press her lips to Hélène's, Marya wrapped her arms round her lovers shoulders and pulled them together just basking in the tenderness and reality of their interactions. Only pulling apart for air, even then drawing the other even closer in an act of incredible intimacy that only well seasoned lovers can have.

_Hélène was the most beautiful woman in Moscow there was no doubt about that. There were beautiful women and then there was Hélène Kuragin. Marya herself had been called beautiful by multiple men, their beards leaving scratches on her neck where they'd kissed her, their fingerprints leaving bruises on her arms where they'd grabbed her, their memories leaving burns in her brain where they'd tried to force themselves onto her. Why would she believe them when all they did was cause her pain?_

_Yet there Hélène lay, completely naked, one leg twisted in the covers, hair strewn over the pillows, pink lipstick smudged over her face, chest rising and falling evenly, left hand resting on her stomach. Looking as angelic as she had the night before, head thrown back, torso arched, praises to a God she didn't believe in leaving her lips. Her whispered adorations leaving brands on Marya's skin even in the morning. What were the whispered words of one woman against the screams of Marya's brain?_

_Marya stared at herself in the mirror, not bothering to cover herself up in any way, there was no point anymore. She poked her stomach, the lipstick stains on her thighs, the bruises on her collarbone before making her way up to her face. Deep red hair curled round her shoulders, already tinged with a light grey, the lines across her forehead, by the edges of her eyes. What Hélène saw in her was a mystery, what would the most beautiful woman in Moscow want Marya for anything?_

_She hadn't even noticed Hélène waking up and coming to stand behind her until she felt hands on her hips and kisses moving from between her shoulder blades to her collar bones. Hélène's hand tracing the curve of her breast, tracing darks makes that scattered across her skin, followed the curve down her stomach to her hips before sinking to her knees and pressing burning kisses to her hip bones,trailing kisses back up her stomach, between her breasts, up her neck, then finally to her lips, all while murmuring praises against skin. Why would Hélène look at her with such adoration, what did she truly see in Marya?_

They laid curled up on the love seat until Marya predicted Sonya would return, almost smuggling Hélène out of the house without being seen by the young girl. Marya could get through the opera, it wasn't too long and at least she'd have Hélène somewhere in the crowd to ground her, to bring her back to herself, it would be easy enough if she tried. Hélène's retreating form, however, brought dread to the pit of Marya's stomach, a gut feeling something would happen, something uncontrollable.

Darkness showed flaws, darkness showed mistakes, darkness showed loneliness. Silence showed flaws, silence showed mistakes, silence showed loneliness. Hélène brought light and music to Marya's life, a way to cover all the flaws and mistakes, a way to heal the gaping hole of loneliness left in Marya's heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments make my cold, dead heart sing


End file.
